


The Phoenix, the Rat, and the Hog...

by IndigoBloom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:46:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoBloom/pseuds/IndigoBloom
Summary: What do you get when you mix a terrorist group, a defunct Global Peacekeeping group, and two pyromaniacs that fall for each other? This story! It's something of a "Love at first sight" kind of thing, and it goes through many ups and downs. Enjoy.





	1. "Don't Stop Me Now"

I walk through the first floor of the collapsing, burning building. I flip through the music on the display on my arm prosthetic. “What should I listen to?” I mutter, “Oh! This is a good one,”.  I click one of the songs, and “Don’t Stop Me Now,” by Queen starts to play.  I hum along to it at first, but then, when it reaches the line “…turn it inside out…”, I start to sing.  I go to each of the dead bodies in the room, and take their wallets, watches, jewelry, whatever I can cache.  “ _ I’m a shooting star leaping through the sky, like a tiger defying the laws of gravity…”  _ I continue, loading all of the loot into a burlap sack.  “… _ I’m burning through the sky, yeah, 200 degrees, that’s why they call me Mr.  _ _ Fahrenheit! Traveling at the speed of light, I wanna make a supersonic man out of you!…”.  _ I continue singing, and by the time the song ends, I have all of the valuables in the building on the bed of my truck, and I’m just standing there, watching everything  _ burn _ . It’s… _ beautiful _ .

But I’m interrupted.

“So,” a man says from behind me, “what was the reason behind just… _ burnin’ _ it?”.  The man as a southern accent. As he walks up behind me, I can hear the soft clink of spurs.

I chuckle.  “Jesse McCree,” I say, “Apparently, it’s high noon…somewhere,”.  I hear him scoff.  I turn around to face him, and put my hands near my gun holsters. I back up a couple paces.

He puts his hand near his holster, staring at me intently.

I raise my eyebrow.  “…Draw!” I say, and I pull out both of my guns and shoot his feet.

He doesn’t even get to pull out his gun. He falls to his knees.

“Ha!” I laugh, “Imagine that! McCree has been out-drawn,”

He sneers at me, and stands back up.

I don’t hesitate. I run straight at him, shoulder lowered, and ram into his chest, feeling a couple of ribs snap.  I throw him over my shoulder, into a pile of smoldering rubble.  When he doesn’t move, I make my escape. I know that someone sent him to either capture me, or kill me.  I get into my truck, and speed down the wrecked streets. All of the buildings, homes, stores, cars, trees…everything…are burning.  I smile to myself. I’m an artist, and this is my masterpiece. I start to laugh, and it turns into something like a cackle.  I stop at the city border, pull over on the road, and I get out. I climb on top of my truck, and stare back at the destruction that I caused. The beautiful, bright, fiery destruction.  I take out a remote, and, turning on the song “We are the Champions”, and I click the only button on it.

In time with the song, whenever the word “we” is sung, another building blows up.

I sit on the roof, watching the carnage, singing. Every time a building blows up, a fresh wave of warmth washes over me. I can feel the shockwave, like the tide, and I feel so…at peace. Even if all I do is spread chaos.  I turn the music off and just listen to the distant crackling of the flames.

Then, the silence is broken.

“Woah!” I hear someone cackle from the far right side of the road, “Looks like someone got here before us! I’d be surprised if this stops burning before next Tuesday!”.  Whoever it is has a thick, Australian accent.  The person proceeds to laugh more. A high-pitched, insane, cackling laugh. But they seem to be enjoying themselves.  “What do you think, Roadie?” the person asks.

There’s a loud grunting sound.

I lay on my stomach, and look over the edge of my truck. There are two guys standing in the grass by the road. 

The one nearest to me is huge! He’s also wearing a gas mask, no shirt, a large gun on his back, cargo shorts, pointy-toed boots, and he’s holding a  _ huge _ hook.

The other one is a tall, skinny, bleach-blonde guy, holding a homemade-rocket-launcher looking thing. His hair shoots up in uneven spikes, and some of it is singed, like he stood too close to an explosion. He has a spiky tire on his back, like a backpack, and has a pegged leg instead of his right leg. His right arm is replaced with mech as well. He has a pair of tattered and burnt green shorts, one boot (because he only has one foot), and the rest of his leg is wrapped in bandages. His face and shoulders are covered in ash.

“Wonder who’s handy-work that is!” the thinner guy says. He’s the one with the accent.

I drop off of the truck, and land on the ground on one knee.

They both turn to me, like they didn’t notice I was there.

“That’d be me,” I say, standing up, brushing my knees off.

The Aussie walks up to me. He’s an inch or three taller than me. And that’s saying something, since I’m six foot two.  Getting a closer look at him, I notice that the tips of his hair are actually on fire. His eyes are a bright orange, and he seems to be perpetually smiling. Other than his face being dirt and ash smudged, he’s actually rather good-looking. I also notice a skull tattoo on his right shoulder.

“And what’s your name, lil’ miss?” he asks.

“Phoenix,” I say, “and don’t call me ‘little miss’,”

He smirks at me, and gives a light chuckle.  “They call me ‘JunkRat’,” he says, “and this is my friend…er, bodyguard, RoadHog,”

RoadHog steps up behind him and gives a pig-like grunt.

I chuckle, and the last explosive in the city goes off. I start to laugh. I laugh so much that I double-over, clutching my stomach.

JunkRat chuckles, looks from me to RoadHog, and then looks back at me, eyebrow raised.  “What’s so funny?” he asks.

“I’m not laughing because something is funny,” I giggle, “I’m laughing because…well, look!”.  I grab his shoulder, and turn him to look at the burning city.  “It’s a beautifully composed fiery ballet,” I say, gesturing to the burning horizon, “and I choreographed it,”.  I chuckle again.

“It is amazing,” JunkRat says, earnestly, “What did you use?”

“Oh, you know, dynamite, a homemade flamethrower, C4, and cans of aerosol-spray and a lighter,” I put up a finger every time I list something off.  I look back at him, and he’s staring at me in admiration.

“And you, all by yourself, reduced an entire city to rubble and ashes?” he says.

I smile and nod.

He cackles.  “That’s insane!” he yells, “You’re insane!”

“Sure I am, what’s your point?” I say.

He grabs my shoulders, and stares at me.  “I’ve never accomplished that, even with Roadie,” he says, voice full of intense, insane excitement, “I want to offer a partnership,”

I back up from him.  “What do you mean?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“If we all work together, we could level entire countries, not just cities!” he says, “We would be unstoppable! A three person army!”

I stare at him for a little, considering his offer. I’m already on a roll. This was my third city this week.  “What do I get out of it?” I ask.

“We’ll split all profits evenly, three ways,” he says, putting up three fingers and getting business-like all of a sudden.

RoadHog grabs him, turns him around, and says something. His voice is muffled, and is very deep, so I can't really understand him.

“What?!” JunkRat says, “She could help us!”

RoadHog says something else.

“I promise, with the loot we get, your third afterward will be more than your half now!” 

RoadHog lets go of him.

JunkRat turns to me, and smiles. He clears his throat.  “So,” he says, extending his hand, “What do you say?”

I think for a bit more.  “Well,” I say, shaking his hand, “I suppose…as long as you  _ ensure _ that we won’t get caught by Talon,”

JunkRat raises an eyebrow.  “Who’s that?” he asks.

“A terrorist group that wants me to join them,” I say.

JunkRat chuckles.  “You must be  _ really _ dangerous, then,” he says.

I smirk. I then turn around, and walk around to the driver’s side door of my truck.

“Where are you going?” JunkRat asks, walking after me.

“My trailer,” I say, “and since we’re ‘partners’, you can follow me,”

I turn to him, and he nods. I turn back to my truck, and flick my head to get my hair out of my face.


	2. Home Stinky Home

When we arrive at my trailer, I unload the truck into the smaller “shed trailer”. That’s where all my loot goes.

“This is where you live?” JunkRat asks.

I turn back around, but my hair falls into my face again. I flick my head, and it falls back into place, across the right side of my forehead.

JunkRat takes a weird, shuddery breath, and smiles, but tries to conceal it.

“What was that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” he says, “It’s just…I like it when you do that. Especially with how your hair is dyed, it makes your hair look a bit more like fire, and, well…” he gives a weird high-pitched giggle.

I chuckle. He’s so weird, but it’s my brand of weird.  “But, yeah, this is where I live,” I say, gesturing to the clearing.  I turn around and go into the trailer, only to be greeted with piles of garbage, empty take-out containers, and the strong smell of BO. I hold my breath and quickly grab two sleeping bags and a pile of blankets and pillows, and go back outside. I kick the door closed.  “Welp,” I say, hitting a button on the left side of the door, “Looks like we’re sleeping outside tonight! I just hope it doesn’t rain…”

All of the windows on the trailer open. 

I toss one of the sleeping bags to JunkRat, and hand the pile of blankets to RoadHog.  “Sorry,” I say to him, “I knew I didn’t have a sleeping bag big enough to make you comfortable,”

He looks at me, like he’s trying to decide whether I was being genuinely nice or if I made a fat joke. He nods and grunts at the same time.

“What am I s’posed to do about this?” JunkRat asks.

“Find the softest patch of dirt, and put the sleeping bag down,” I say, “That’s where you’ll sleep,”.  I go to the only patch of grass, crouch down, and open my sleeping bag. I stand up, and flick my hair again.

JunkRat sighs. I look back, and he’s sitting on the ground, looking at me. His tire-backpack-thing is on the ground a little bit away from him.

I turn away and smile.

“So,” he says, “What are we going to do about food?”

“I’ll get stuff from the trailer,” I say, grabbing a bandana and tying it around my mouth and nose.

JunkRat starts to stand up, but I shake my head and wave at him to sit back down.

I grab some left over noodles, dumplings, and other Chinese food. I then grab the ingredients to make more.  I pull out a small grill into the middle of the clearing, and I start it up. I get out some pots and pans, and start to cook more food.

“Why do you have all of the windows open?” JunkRat asks.

“To air out my trailer,” I say, “It smelled like a dojo that hasn’t been cleaned in…a week?”

He chuckles, and I chuckle as well.  “Where are you from?” he asks after a bit.

“Tokyo,” I say, not even pausing, “I may eat a lot of Chinese food, but I am Japanese,”

“Neat,” he says, “obviously, I’m from Australia. Big guy is from there as well,”

I nod, and glance at RoadHog. He’s looking at me in a very unsettling way.

“Well,” I say, “food’s done,”

I set all of the food in a circle in the middle of the clearing. Three plates of noodles, a bowl of dumplings, and a pot of tea.  I’m already sitting on a mat, and there is two others in a circle, and I’m wiping off a pair of chopsticks on my shirt.

“What type of tea?” JunkRat asks as he sits down.

RoadHog sits down on the only other mat, and grabs his noodles and a pair of chopsticks. He then stands up, walks to the edge of the woods, and sits down, facing away from us.

“Pomegranate Oolong,” I say, and then I nod to RoadHog, raising an eyebrow.

JunkRat just waves at me not to worry.

We start to eat, and converse all the while.

“He needs to take his mask off to eat,” JunkRat whispers, “but he doesn’t want people to see his face,”

I nod.

“So,” JunkRat says, “Is your birth name ‘Phoenix’?”

I snort.  “No,” I say, “It’s not. My name is Matsuno. Matsuno Tsuru,”

His eyes open a bit wider.  “That’s a lovely name,” he says, past a large mouth-full of dumpling, “I can’t say the same for my name, though,”

I raise an eyebrow, and swallow the noodles I was just chewing.  “Well, you know my name,” I say, “What’s yours?”

He sighs, and hangs his head.  “Jamison,” he says, “Jamison Fawkes,”

I raise my eyebrows, and smile.

He looks at me, and then quickly looks away again. Is…is he blushing?

“Hey,” I say to him, “I like it. I like your name. Would you mind if just I called you ‘Fawkes’?”

He smiles at me, nods, and we finish our meals in silence.

 

\---

 

That night, laying in my sleeping bag, a weird rustling wakes me up.  I open my eyes, but I stay still. But then, the noise stops. Not even a second after, someone speaks.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fawkes whispers.

I want to answer him, but someone else does instead.

“I’m bein’ paid to kill her,” a very familiar deep voice says, “that, and…she beat the hell out’a me,”

Fawkes chuckles, and I hear shuffling, like he grabbed McCree and stood him up. Fawkes slightly gasps.  “Do it,” he says, “I dare you. Stick me with that knife, and you’ll have to deal with both her and the Hog over there,”

McCree must have decided against stabbing Fawkes, since there’s silence for about a minute, then Fawkes says something.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

I slowly sit up, and rub my eyes, making it seem like I just woke up.  I stretch and turn around, and then I stare at McCree, faking surprise.  “Oh!” I say, eyes flicking from his eyes to his knife and back again, “Tried to kill me in my sleep?”

“I can still kill you now,” He says, “I’m not afraid of a few vagabonds,”

Fawkes laughs.

“What’s so funny?” McCree asks, and he turns his back on me.

I take this chance. I kick his legs out from under him, and he lands with a thud on my sleeping bag.  Getting to my feet, I scamper over next to Fawkes.

“Well,” he laughs, “the bigger they are, the harder they fall,”

I start to laugh as well, and McCree stands back up.

“That is the last time I let you knock me down,” he growls.

I laugh harder.  “No,” I say, “It’s not,”.  I run at him, fake a right hook, but then I kick him in the shin.

He falls onto one knee, and I kick him in the thigh, breaking his leg.  He screams in agony, but I laugh in triumph.

“See,” I say, “I knocked you down, and broke your leg. What are you going to do about that?”

He growls as he stands up, and limps toward me, knife still poised to stab.  But then he’s knocked off of his feet and flies sideways. He flies through the trees, and lands with a thud somewhere in the forest.

“Oops,” Fawkes says, “Looks like we woke up Roadie,”

I hear a grunt from where RoadHog was sleeping.

“Sorry,” I whisper in his direction.  I head back to my sleeping bag, and sit down. I look back at Fawkes.  “Thanks,” I say.

“For what?” he asks.

“Saving my life,” I say.

“It was nothing,” he says, “He was just being a coward, killing you in your sleep,”

I nod, and lay back down.

“‘Night, Mat,” he says, shortening my name, “try not to get killed while you sleep,”

I chuckle.  “You too, Fawkes,” I say.  I close my eyes, and fall back to sleep, with no dreams at all.


	3. Talon Attacks...

I wake early the next morning, and quietly roll up my sleeping bag. I walk into the woods a bit, but I can’t find McCree anywhere. He must have crawled away to lick his wounds like the dog he is.  I start to walk back to the clearing, when I feel like I’m being followed, or observed by someone I can’t see.  Someone grabs my shoulder from behind me, and puts a gun to the back of my head.

“Struggle, and you’re dead,” the person says, gruff voice muffled by a mask.

I glance back to see a member of Talon, known as Reaper.  “Okay,” I say, putting my hands up, “I’ll play along,”

He pushes me into the clearing, and I see that Fawkes and RoadHog are starting to get up.

“Oi, Mat!” Fawkes yells, “Where’d you…”.  He then notices that I’m being held at gunpoint. He grabs his closet weapon, which is the Frag-launcher.  “Let ‘er go!” he yells at Reaper, “Let ‘er go, or I’ll blow you sky high!”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Reaper yells back, “This entire situation is under the watchful eye of Talon’s best sniper,”

_ Oh, god, _ I think to myself,  _ Widowmaker. _

This statement, however, makes Fawkes slightly lower his weapon. RoadHog walks up next to him, holding his giant hook.

“All we want is Phoenix,” Reaper says, “We’ll leave you two alone,”

“Well, that’s the problem, mate,” Fawkes says, “I’ll only let you take her over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged,” Reaper says.

A gunshot rings out, and the bullet hits the ground not even an inch in front of Fawkes' good foot.  He doesn’t even flinch.

“That was a warning,” Reaper says, “Next time, it goes straight through your head,”

Fawkes scoffs.  “Kill me if you want,” he says, “Both ‘er and Roadie will beat you to a bloody pulp, and then go after your friends,”

I smile at how confident he is. I just met him yesterday, and what he just said was true. I don’t know how, but it is.

“Still,” another voice says, “Phoenix will keep escaping, and avoiding us, so we might as well kill all of them,”

I turn my head slightly, and see another member of Talon, Sombra. She’s a master hacker, and is pretty crazy.

“I like that idea,” Reaper growls, “but Doomfist wants to see her, to try to convince her to join,”

“I’m right here, you know,” I say.

They ignore me.

“Yeah, but he’ll just come to the same conclusion,” Sombra says, “why not just save him the trouble? I’ll take the blame,”

“I agree with Sombra,” Widowmaker says as she drops out of a tree, “It would make our job easier,”

“So,” Sombra says, “What do you say, Reaper? Let’s just kill them all,”

“Umm,” I say, “No, thank you,”

I stomp on Reapers foot, and kick his gun out of his hand. I run over to Fawkes, and draw my guns.

“Nicely done,” Fawkes says.

“Thank you,” I reply, “You take Widowmaker, I’ll take Reaper, and RoadHog takes Sombra?”

“Sounds fun,” Fawkes says, and he smiles, “On your mark?”

“Get set,” I smile back.

“Go!” both of us say, and we each rush at our targets.

I run at Reaper, and kick him square in the mask. He flies back, and I start to shoot at him. He dodges every bullet.  _ How is he doing that? _ I think.

He punches me in the stomach, and I stumble backwards, coughing.

I rush at him, knocking both of us to the ground. I kneel on his chest, and point one of my guns at his face.  “That was easy,” I say, “Are you out yet?”

He doesn’t answer, but his chest rises and falls evenly. He’s still alive, but he’s out.

I stand up, and look around.

“MAT!” Fawkes yells.

I turn to him, and see him grappling with both Sombra  _ and _ Widowmaker. But…where’s RoadHog? Looking around, I see him lying on his back, out cold…hopefully.  “I’m coming, Fawkes!” I yell.

“Too slow!” Widowmaker yells, and she’s raising her sniper-rifle.

I shove Fawkes aside as soon as I get him, and I stumble sideways.

“Mat!” Fawkes cries as he stumbles to his feet, “Mat, are you…?”

I look down at my stomach, and see that I have my hands there. I remove my hands, and all I see is…red. My vision spins, and the world rocks, but I stay standing. I’m staring at the large patch of red on my shirt. But…I don’t feel any pain. Weird.  I chuckle slightly, but it turns into a cough. I fall to my knees, and Fawkes catches me. I start coughing harder, and I see red drops spewing everywhere.

“Mat!” Fawkes says, turning me sideways and cradling me, “Dear god, Mat…”

I feel everything slipping away. Everything is becoming blurry. I cough.

“Matsuno!” I hear someone else roar.

I turn my head, and I see a large white and grey object coming toward me. They get closer to me, and I see that it’s a member of the defunct group, Overwatch. He’s a large, genetically modified gorilla named Winston.  “Hey…monkey,” I say, feeling more and more sluggish, “h-how…how is you?”

“You were shot,” Winston says, examining my torso, “But it doesn’t look like it will kill you,”

I chuckle, and cough.  “Thanks,” I say, “That makes me feel a  _ bit _ better,”

“Take her to the trailer,” Winston says to Fawkes, “Tracer and I will take care of Sombra and Widowmaker,”

Fawkes makes a noise like he wants to protest, but he nods. He picks me up, and takes me into my trailer. It smells less like feet now, but more like…lightly worn shoes.  Fawkes places me on my bed, and starts to search around.

“What are you l-looking for?” I ask.

“Rags,” he says, still searching.

“Bathroom,” I say, pointing weakly to the other side of the trailer.

He walks over to the small room, and comes back with a stack of rags, and a pair of scissors.  “I’m going to need to sit you up,” he says, propping me up with pillows.  Every time he moves me, a slight pain shoots through my torso, making me wince.

“Sorry,” Fawkes says every time I wince. It takes him about five minutes to wrap the wound, and then he slowly lowers me back onto my pillow.

“How are…how are they doing against…against Talon?” I ask, glancing over at the window.

Fawkes walks over to the window, looking out. “They seem to have Talon on the run. Winston should be able to help you in a bit,”

I nod, and take slow, controlled, wheezing breaths. I close my eyes, concentrating on my breathing, trying to hold on for as long as I can.

“Mat?” Fawkes says, worried, like he thinks I died.

“I’m…I’m still alive,” I say, “Don’t worry. I’m…I’m just concentrating on  _ not _ dying. It’s…it’s getting really hard to breathe,”

I feel someone grab my hand, and hold it tightly. I slightly open one eye, and see Fawkes holding my hand with both of his, kneeling next to the bed. He’s staring at me, a very concerned and guilty look on his face.

“What?” I ask, turning to him, “Why do you look like that?”

“You…you took a bullet for me,” he says quietly, “but…you only met me yesterday. Why? What in the world possessed you to do that?”

“I…I don’t know,” I say, “I just…I pictured you…well, I pictured you dead, and…I couldn’t let that happen. So, I…I pushed you out of the way and…hoped for the best,”

He sighs, and squeezes my hand tighter. “I…I’m sorry,” he says, “Now, because I wasn’t able to beat them, you’re injured,”

“I never expected you to beat them,” I say, “I just needed you to slow them down,”

He sighs again. “I didn’t even do that,” he says, quietly.

I cough, and take another long, wheezing breath. I lay my head back on my pillow, and close my eyes.

Someone enters the trailer, and walks over to me.

“How is she doing?” Winston asks.

“She’s still alive,” Fawkes says, “but…barely,”

Winston sighs. “We need to get her somewhere safe. I’m going to take her with us, you and RoadHog follow us. Alright?”

I feel Fawkes squeeze my hand tighter. “But…” he says, “I don’t want to leave her,”

“You’ll see her soon,” Winston says, “Don’t worry,”

Fawkes sighs, and lets go of my hand. “Alright,” he says, “I trust you,”

I feel someone pick me up, and carry me out of the trailer. I fade into darkness, going unconscious, unaware of what is happening around me.


End file.
